


Arrow Dynamics

by Romalde



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Lots of kissing, M/M, blowjob, but like - tiny amounts, could also be tagged as 'overthinking things', handjob, this is just a lengthy excuse for fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romalde/pseuds/Romalde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is Heaven's most sought after Cupid - together with lower level Cherub Niall, he can make any match happen. He's out on his own in London, trying to match a beautiful curly haired boy, when he makes a terrible mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First multi-chapter finished work EVER! I am actually sort of proud of myself.  
> A massive thank you to my sister, who proof-read the entire work even when it got really weird for her. I love you. You're the best.

The couple is perfect for each other, but the restaurant is quieter than Louis has ever seen it. He's going to need to think outside the box to pull this one off.

A couple of ideas are already swimming through his head, and, seeing as the love-birds only have eyes for each other, he might just be able to do it. He goes with the simplest plan, as they are usually the most successful.

He flies through the kitchen into the staff office, invisible as per usual, and rummages through the employee clothing. He finds a white button up and some fancy black trousers that look to be about his size (although they would drag down over his ankles a bit too much, but he's sure no one will notice) as well as a dark red apron. Quickly, he dresses into them, makes himself visible, and heads back out.

Most restaurant employees are busy serving a table, which is good, because Louis' hair is not adhering to any of the company policies, and the employees would definitely notice him if they weren't busy. He grabs a bottle of expensive champagne on the way out of the kitchen.

With a professional swagger he walks over to the couple's table – Janet and Joachim, he's been trying to set them up for ages – and presents the bottle to them, muttering an “on the house” under his breath. He waits for a second, but although they nod, they don't actually look up at him, and that's all Louis needs to go ahead.

He walks up behind Joachim, pours some of the fizzy alcohol in his glass while poking him with an arrow, before walking around to the other side of the table and doing the same to Janet. He checks his work – the two making heart eyes at each other like hormone-ridden teenagers – and smiles. His work is done.

He quickly but steadily makes his way back to the office, dumps his borrowed clothes in the laundry basket and, as he hears voices about to come into the office, turns invisible and flies past the two employees in the doorway, hitting them with a one-day arrow just for good measure.

He really loves his job.

Being a Cupid is a tough job, but Louis is good. Like, seriously good at what he does. Best results in the garrison and all. Best results in several centuries, if the compliments that his management team has been giving him are any indication. Management is reticent with their praise, preferring to be realistic about the difficult job that the Cupids have to perform, so Louis likes to believe them when they offer it.

The most difficult part about being a Cupid is the 10-second rule. After hitting someone with an arrow, a Cupid becomes visible for about five to ten seconds, and while Cupids usually have full control over their visibility, in this case, they really don't.

What makes the 10-second rule so frustrating is that, after people are hit with an arrow, they will fall in love with the first person they see. And it is a Cupid's first and foremost responsibility to _never_ let a human see them first after an arrow has hit them. Of course, management drilling this into them was more prevention than anything, as Louis has befriended several Cupids who have had enjoyable short term relationships with humans, but in general, love between a human and a Cupid is strictly frowned upon.

Louis himself has never had a relationship with a human, preferring to keep a professional distance from his targets, and focussing solely on his job and ways to reach his targets. For example, he and his friend Niall (a lower level Cherub) were the proud inventors of the one-day arrow. You see, the love induced by an arrow has an expiration date, depending on which arrow is used. There are arrows that can make a person be influenced for a couple of weeks, three to six months or for about a year. It is up to a Cupid's judgement to see how long a couple will need to be influenced in order to stick together long-term.

However, Louis has never believed that a romance has to be long-term per definition in order to be considered a success. He has had great results with short term relationships, and had kept lobbying with management for the longest time until they allowed arrows fit for one night stands.

One spectacular meeting with his management, in which Louis had effectively countered every protest they could think of with regards to one night stands, they had promised to start looking into making arrows for that purpose. Of course, Niall had been eavesdropping on the meeting from the hallway, and he'd just sauntered in to present the tested, ready-for-use arrow that they had made together. Really, Louis hadn't even done that much. It was mostly all Niall. Niall was a genius.

A day later, the arrow had passed every official inspection and then some, and all Cupids were allowed to have people enjoy one night stands. Louis never told management that most of his long-term successes were induced by the one night only arrow, even before they passed inspections.

Yes, Louis had quite found his calling in being a Cupid. He loved making people fall in love, making them happy, and making the world a brighter place for it. He usually floundered around in busy pubs and restaurants, listening in on people already on a date, and trying to figure out whether they could be right for each other. If it was busy enough, he would just poke them with an arrow, as no one would notice a guy appearing and disappearing for a couple of seconds. Louis _really_ enjoyed himself in places that weren't quite as busy though, having to come up with elaborate plans to make sure the humans wouldn't notice him.

Louis' knack for these plans (and their high success rate) is what got him on the radar with the higher ups. You see, every now and then, Heaven decided that people had to be together, to fulfil their part in the Grand Scheme of Things. Nine out of ten times, the unsuspecting future lovers didn't even know each other by the time Heaven decided the match had to happen. So they approached Louis, and with Niall's help, he could make any match happen. Like with Janet and Joachim today.

Niall and he had spent ages trying to convince the two to set up online dating accounts and then hacking into the system to match the two of them up. Even then, it had been hell to get them on a date, but they had gotten the job done in the end. Of course.

Done with his mission for the day, Louis flies aimlessly through London, deciding that he might as well match a couple more people up for the heck of it. He flies out to his favourite dive; some jazz café in Soho that he'd been frequenting for the past twenty years or so. The performers were often very good and the crowd delightful.

This time is not any different. The crowd is pleasantly buzzed, and Louis has no trouble at all shooting off arrows left and right, enjoying the looks on the faces of the people he hits. There were two people in particular – a heavily tattooed girl with a buzz cut and a not quite so heavily tattooed girl with long, pastel pink hair – that looked especially star struck when laying eyes on each other. Louis is having the time of his life.

At one point he turns himself visible, not exactly standing out from the crowd in his white shirt, black jeans and messy hair. He's itching to feel the life of the party go through him. Being heaven's go-to matchmaker can get awful lonely, and sometimes just being among humans makes him feel a little more alive. Hell, without Niall, Louis is pretty sure he would have given up a century ago.

He orders a drink and has a nice long look around the café to pick his next targets as the guy who had announced all acts that evening climbs up to the stage to introduce the next act. Apparently, it's one of their employees who's doing his first solo performance here at the café tonight. Louis silently hopes he doesn't mess up the good vibe that's currently going on.

He downs the rest of his drink and is about to head off to his next target – a good looking guy with sweet brown eyes, black hair and a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, who had been standing in the back the entire evening – when the new act climbs the stage.

For a second, Louis doesn't really understand what's going on. The singer seems to be tripping over thin air and Louis has a hard time discerning which of his limbs are arms, and which are legs. But then the guy finds his bearings and sits down on a stool behind the microphone, and Louis' breath is knocked out of him.

The guy is stunning. Dressed in all black, he looks like charm on a stick. His long hair is pulled back in a messy bun, but a couple of stubborn, curly locks have escaped and frame his lovely face. He smiles nervously at the crowd and _dimples_ appear on both side of his ridiculous mouth. He adjusts his shirt – way too many buttons open and Louis can see several tattoos quite well – and then he speaks.

“I'm Harry. Thanks for not running out when I was announced,” he says with a crooked, one-dimpled smile, and the crowd laughs a bit. His voice is low and slow, as if he has no rush whatsoever, and Louis has no other word to describe it apart from _husky_. Who the heck does this boy think he is? Louis is definitely insulted by his mere presence.

Well, no. Not insulted. Struck by lightning would be a more accurate description. No one should be allowed to be this attractive.

As Harry starts singing he looks up from the microphone, over to the guy in the back that Louis had previously targeted. Louis decides right then and there that he will match them, as the very least he can do for this beautiful, beautiful singing boy is let him have a romance. But how to get the brown-eyed guy to the podium?

Right. No time for subtlety. He's got to get this singer boy matched up, or he'll start considering stupid things like breaking the rules and asking him out. He walks over to the guy in the back, who's still leaning against the wall but definitely looking like he's enjoying himself, and taps him lightly on the shoulder. He puts on his award winning smile and asks, “Hi. Wanna dance?”

The guy looks him over from head to toe, and up close his brown eyes are even kinder. Even if they're framed in a face that looks like it was cut from a nice, smooth honey onyx marble. Man, Louis could cut himself on those cheekbones. He'll make a lovely match for singer-boy Harry.

Marble face scrunches his face a little and is about to say something when Louis interrupts, “Just dancing, no strings attached,” and he relaxes. Louis sticks out his hand and is glad to see that the guy accepts.

“I'm Louis,” he says, tugging marble model all the way to the front of the podium, trying to make him feel a little more comfortable. He moves well, but he's visibly nervous. Probably why he stuck to the wall the entire evening.

“Zayn,” the guy shouts over Harry's incredible singing, smiling a bit, and Louis is pleased to find out that the guy's name is as pretty as his face. They dance for about a song and a half, the time Louis apparently needs to get Zayn to relax and just have fun, before Louis offers to get some drinks. Zayn nods and, as Louis starts moving towards the bar, looks up at Harry with the biggest smile Louis has seen on his face so far. Yes, they'll make a great match.

About three feet away from Zayn he turns himself invisible. It's too crowded for anyone to notice him disappearing. He makes a beeline back to the front of the stage, glad to find Zayn still staring at Harry with open admiration and even more pleasantly surprised to find Harry looking back. He positions himself right in front of Zayn to get the angle right, grabs a three to six months arrow, aims it at Harry and shoots. As he's about to turn around to jab Zayn, he makes eye contact with the singer and realizes he's make a crucial mistake.

He forgot about the ten second rule.

He fucking forgot about the ten second rule. He has been working as a Cupid for nearly two hundred years now, and _he forgot the ten second rule_.

Harry looks at him and actually forgets his lines for about two beats before he continues. Louis forces himself to stay visible, as it would be incredibly strange to just disappear again and risk being found out. Stuck somewhere halfway between looking at Harry and turning towards Zayn, Louis sees the surprised look on Zayn's face from the corner of his eyes, and Louis forces himself to turn away from the singing boy fully.

“Sorry,” he says, fumbling for an excuse, “forgot to ask what you want.” It sounds stupid, even in his own head. He had seen Zayn drinking a beer before he lured him out to the dance floor. Zayn doesn't seem to notice though.

“A beer's great,” he says, smiling. Louis abruptly turns around and heads for the bar again. His head is buzzing. What to do now? How could he actually be stupid enough to break the first rule of Cupid-club?

He orders two beers, drinks his own beer in one go, orders another one and heads back to Zayn. It isn't until he gets there that it occurs to him that he could have just left. He hands Zayn his beer and looks back over his shoulder towards the exit longingly, but decides to stay. It would be unfair towards Zayn to just leave him there, and Louis prides himself on his manners.

Zayn takes his drink from him gratefully and continues dancing, occasionally throwing glances up at Harry. Whenever Louis looks up, he finds Harry looking down from the stage, smiling at him with those stupid dimples, and he feels an overwhelming need to be anywhere else.

He keeps dancing with Zayn for the rest of Harry's set, and as the singer bows one last time – the audience cheering loudly – Louis decides that now would be the perfect time to leave. He's stayed long enough to be polite to Zayn and he has every intention to let Harry get over the arrow in his own time. No harm done, just a very confusing couple of months for the singer about why he feels so hung up on someone he just saw in the audience.

He turns and leans over to tell Zayn that he's had a great time, thanks for the dance, but he has to be out for work again early tomorrow so he has to leave. Zayn, to his surprise, hugs him and says “same, man. See you around?” with a big smile.

Louis nods, turns and prepares himself for the fastest exit in history, only to smack face-first into the surprisingly firm chest of Harry, the bloody schmuck. With his dimples. And his smooth, smooth skin.

“Oops,” the guy says, his smile widening.

“Hi,” Louis squeaks.

“Harry!” Zayn exclaims, walking around Louis to envelop the boy in a hug. “You were fantastic! Knew you would be, but you were!” The two guys slap each other on the back a couple of times and Louis is hit hard by the realization that he could have ruined a perfectly good friendship if he'd hit them with his arrows. What in the heavens had he been thinking? He's never made such rash matches.

“So, who is this fine young man I've seen you dance with?” Harry asks, voice that same sultry draw as on stage. He turns to Louis, once again washing over him with the full unleashed force of his smile. Louis isn't even bothered that Harry called him a 'young man', even though he's pretty sure he's got about two thousand years on Harry. Zayn looks between the two of them with a knowing smirk, and Louis isn't sure that he likes him anymore.

“Louis,” Louis introduces himself before Zayn can make any inappropriate comments. Harry extends his hand and Louis, being the polite angel he is, feels forced to shake it.

“I'm Harry. Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking a little longer than strictly necessary and _holy hell_ are Harry's eyes an astonishing shade of green. Louis finds himself involuntarily stuck in eye contact, even though he's pretty sure humans don't go this long without blinking. “Listen, Zayn and I were about to head out to a pub a couple of streets over to meet a mate. Want to join?”

Louis tries to splutter out excuses about work and getting up early, but Zayn talks right over him, a glint in his eyes, saying that that would be a great idea. Louis distinctly remembers him saying he had to work early. The traitor. Louis is certain now, that he doesn't like Zayn any more.

When they're waiting for their coats, Louis fidgets and picks at everything within reach – the hem of his shirt, the skin around his nails, his hair... Harry keeps shooting him looks and smiles, even though they're not really talking, and Louis is completely unprepared to deal with a human who's in love with him.

“Hey,” he asks Harry and Zayn, perfectly audible in the relative quiet of the coat room, “I've got a mate who's probably still out, too. Would it be okay if I asked him along?” Both of them nod consent with a vague tipsy smile on their faces, and Louis doesn't ask again.

He gets out his phone – which he has for matchmaking purposes, of course – and pretends to dial a number. See, no matter whether they're Archangels, Cherubs, Guardians or Seraphim, angels can be prayed to, as long as you know them by name. Comes in very handy every now and then.

“Hey Niall, you up there?” Louis asks a dead phone.

“ _Tommo, my man,”_ comes the quick answer. _“What can I do for you today?”_

“I met some guys down in the café tonight and we're going out for some drinks. Wanna join in?” It's still very awkward to talk to a phone that's not connected, and Louis glances around, hoping no one notices.

“ _What? You made human friends? Are you out of your mind? You know nothing good comes from that.”_

“Yeah man, sounds good, see you in fifteen?”

“ _...You did something phenomenally stupid, didn't you?”_ Niall asks, deadpanned.

“Yes I did,” Louis says, perfectly chipper. “See ya soon!” He pretends to hang up, realizes he never specified a location (although Niall will be able to find him regardless) and hopes Harry and Zayn were too intoxicated to notice. No one asks about it.

* * *

 

About twenty minutes later, Louis finds himself squeezed in between Niall and Zayn in a booth, on a bench that's meant for only two people, unable to tear his gaze away from Harry. The friend that they'd met at the pub had been introduced to him as... Linus... Leeroy... Liam? It didn't matter, because as much as Louis couldn't keep his eyes off of Harry all evening, the boy couldn't keep his eyes off of him either.

He is miserable.

It had taken Niall approximately 0.2 seconds to work out what had happened upon meeting the other guys, and he'd spent every moment since, trying to make himself stop laughing. Thankfully, the others seemed to think he was just very good natured.

“So Niall,” Linden, Lisle or Lucas says from opposite them, “how do you and Louis know each other?”

A waitress puts large pints in front of each of them and Niall makes sure to thank her before answering.

“We're colleagues,” he answers automatically, sticking to the scenario they'd come up with years ago, just in case it was ever needed.

“What do you guys do?” Zayn asks. Louis forcefully turns his head away from Harry, feeling it in his bones almost like physical pain.

“We're with a dating company,” Louis provides. “I'm in charge of meet and greets and I run compatibility checks. Niall often helps me out, but he's more an IT-guy.”

“How very modern of you,” Zayn says. Niall just shrugs.

“It's fun,” he says, “helping people find true love.” He nudges Louis' foot under the table, and Louis kicks him in the shin hard.

“So what do you guys do?” Louis asks, quickly changing the subject before they get into awkward territory like the name of their company, or where it is.

“We're room mates,” Harry supplies. “I'm a history major, just like Liam.” Ah, yes. His name's Liam. Louis knew it. “Zayn's a med student, but he works back at the jazz café, which is how we met.”

“Not like we see Zayn much these days, mind you,” Liam supplies, after a large gulp of beer.

“Why not?” Niall asks, seeming genuinely interested.

“Spends too much time with his girlfriend,” Harry grins. Louis quite possibly feels even worse about trying to set him up with Harry at the jazz café. Zayn is smiling dreamily. He would have felt awful taking that away from him.

Everyone is surprisingly easy to chat with. He learns that Liam works at an art gallery that occasionally displays some of the art Zayn makes. Zayn is apparently good enough that he doesn't need another job on the side, but likes working at the cafe regardless.

He learns that Harry is taking a theology minor, and he spends a couple of minutes in lively conversation about mankind's current ideas of the divine. Most of it is ridiculous, of course, but he's surprised to find that some of the angel lore at least appears to be somewhat correct.

Liam's a criminology minor, something he claims to be doing just for fun, even though it's a ridiculously hard subject.

Niall and he steer the conversation away from any personal questions aimed at themselves easily, each time something comes up.

Then, Zayn decides he wants a smoking break. None of the others smoke, but Liam gets up to use the men's room. All is fine, until Niall asks Liam to hold up, as he might as well go too.

Louis has spent too many drinking contests with Niall over the centuries to even believe for a second that Niall actually has to use the facilities. That man could drink and has drunk litres of beer without going to the loo.

“ _Niall, you traitor,”_ Louis yells at him in prayer-mode.

“ _Love you too, Tommo,”_ Niall replies. _“You made the poor sod fall for you, so I'd suggest you just get through these couple of months with him until the arrow has stopped working.”_

Louis really does feel betrayed by his best friend. Back-stabbed. Et tu, Brute?

“ _Relax,”_ Niall prays. _“It'll be over before you know it. Besides, the kid's cute. Might as well have some fun. You wouldn't be the first.”_

Louis knows he wouldn't be the first, but he was pretty much the only Cupid in the garrison left with an immaculate record, and he liked it. Niall has a point though. He could just wait the arrow out, have three to six months of fun with a genuinely cool guy, and then get on with his usual matchmaking.

It occurs to Louis that now that he's alone with Harry, and he has no other people around to make it less awkward. Harry seems to have spotted the same problem, as he looks like he's willing his mouth to make words, but nothing's coming out.

Luckily, a waitress saves them from the extreme awkwardness.

“A bigger booth's just cleared up,” she says. “Would you like to move?” Both Harry and Louis nod eagerly, stumbling over words in professing how absolutely awesome that would be, happy for something to distract them just a little bit longer. The waitress helps them move everyone's beers and coats to the new booth, and as Louis slides into it, he realizes he's made yet another tremendous mistake.

The booth has one single rounded bench.

Harry scoots in and moves up just this side of too close, pushing Louis' beer towards him from where it was at the other end of the table.

“Thanks for tagging along tonight,” Harry drawls, seeming to have finally found his voice again. His face is a bit red, but his eyes are shining at Louis as if he's a fucking sunrise or something. It's disarmingly endearing.

“My pleasure,” Louis says. It's not even a lie. The rest of the guys are great company, even the traitorous Zayn and Niall. And Harry has just been amazing. He is smart and funny and gorgeous and it's completely unfair.

“I saw you, you know,” Harry says, voice wavering a bit, “at the café. I looked up because I'd spotted Zayn earlier, and all of a sudden you were just _there_.”

Louis doesn't know what to say. _Oh yeah, that's when I forced you to temporarily fall in love with me, hope you don't mind_ just doesn't seem to cut it. He realizes he's probably been quiet too long, but Harry doesn't seem to mind. He's scooting ever so slightly closer and not so subtly puts his large and surprisingly soft hand over Louis' smaller and more calloused one.

“Couldn't look away anymore,” Harry finishes softly, and _oh fuck it_. Louis leans in, finding a wry comfort in knowing that at least he won't be rejected when he softly presses his lips against Harry's.

The kiss remains shy for about a second and then Louis moans quietly, Harry sucks in a sharp breath and the next moment it's all crushing lips and tongues and nibbling and it's _nice_. Harry's lips are plush and warm and they fit over Louis' perfectly, his end-of-the-day stubble gently scraping against Louis' chin and cheeks.

When they break apart for air after what seems like hours, or seconds later, Louis trails kisses down Harry's absurdly long neck, sucking a little on the tip of the wing of a tattooed swallow he finds just underneath Harry's collar bone.

“Louis,” Harry gasps breathlessly, and Louis presses his forehead against Harry's sternum, trying to get his breathing under control. “I need you to know,” Harry continues, even slower than usual, “that I don't ask this to everyone I meet,” he pauses to catch his breath, “but would you like to take this to a more private setting? My house, preferably?”

Louis grabs Harry's hands and kisses his knuckles. “Yes, hell yes,” he whispers, breath ghosting over Harry's fingers. The two of them scramble out of the booth, reaching into their wallets to leave a generous amount of money behind for the tab, and move out of the pub texting their friends about their abrupt departure. Or well, Harry's texting Liam, and Louis' pretending to text Niall.

“ _Harry and I are off,”_ he tells Niall.

“ _Knew you had it in you. Have fun.”_

“ _Fuck you.”_

* * *

 

Louis wakes up the next morning on a bumpy, old leather couch, guilt over the previous night weighing down on him like a mountain, and his boss yelling in his head.

 “ _Heaven to Louis, matchmaking to be done. Wake up. No time for sleeping, not that you need it any way. Up!”_

 “Morning, Simon,” Louis grumbles, bodily tossing himself off the couch onto his feet, popping joints and stretching muscles, even though he doesn’t actually feel physical discomfort. Angel perks.

 “ _You’re still in London?”_ Simon asks. Louis is completely sure he already knows the answer, so he remains silent “ _Good. The higher-ups need you to match Barbara McKinney and John Bornald. I believe you have been keeping an eye on them already, so I trust that you get the matter done and over with quickly. Good luck.”_

 The connection is broken without any further ado. Louis likes Simon, he really does, but the man is all work and no play. Then again, knowing Simon, work probably _is_ play for him.

 He rolls his shoulders one last time and ambles over to Harry’s shared kitchen, his friends/housemates all MIA, helping himself to a strong cup of tea. The tiles are cold underneath his feet, and the previous night is on replay in his head.

 It had been… entertaining, to say the least. Harry had basically propositioned him throughout the entire evening and it had taken all of Louis’ will power to not take him up on the repeated offerings. It had just seemed wrong, because of the arrow and the sheer amount of alcohol involved. So, instead, they had kissed, and touched, and rutted, and in the middle of the night Harry had more or less fallen asleep on top of him. Louis, being super-humanly strong and careful, had carried the boy to his bedroom. He’d stayed the night, sleeping on the couch, not wanting Harry to wake up in the middle of the night only to find him gone. Who knows what that could have done to the boy at this point, under the influence of an arrow.

 Louis is about to look for a pen and paper, to leave a note for Harry excusing his early departure, when the boy walks into the kitchen. Eyes sleepy, hair pointing in every which direction, he is still breathtaking. A slow smile spreads over his face at the sight of Louis, and Louis has to look away.

 “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Louis asks, facing his cup of tea.

 “Nah,” Harry says, walking up behind him, slipping an arm around his waist and kissing the crook of Louis’ neck, “I always wake early.”

 Louis can’t help himself. He tilts his head to allow Harry access, thoroughly enjoying the small trail of kisses the boy is currently making up and down his neck. Six months, at the most, he reminds himself. He can do this. For Harry.

 “You seem awfully chipper for someone who drank enough to warrant a hangover of cataclysmic proportions,” Louis says to distract himself.

 “So do you,” Harry retorts, hardly interrupting the lazy kisses, that are now including small nibbles.

 “Fast metabolism,” Louis breathes out, turns around to meet Harry’s lips with his own. He can let himself have this, can’t he? It doesn’t mean anything. Six months, and then it’ll be over.

 “I have to leave,” Louis says after a minute of slow lips dragging against each other, not a hurry in the world. Harry makes a sound in his throat that sounds an awful lot like a whine. Louis finds it entirely too cute.

 “Just a little longer,” Harry says, teeth gently tugging on Louis’ earlobe. Louis wants to stay, he really does, but a matchmaking order from higher up can’t be ignored.

 “Have to organize an event today,” he tries to explain, hands planted on Harry's chest, but not really putting any force behind them, “kinda have to be there when it starts.”

 “I can come along,” Harry offers, his fingers lazily drawing across Louis’ hip bones and _what?_ He pushes Harry back to look up at him, trying to keep up a smile.

 “I’m sorry, but bring-your-fling-to-work day isn’t until next month,” he says, aiming for good humor and utterly failing at it.

 “Oh,” Harry mutters and takes a step back. Louis wants to hit his head against the wall. Of course Harry’s not going to take that well, under the influence of an arrow. This is why you always shoot people with arrows simultaneously – because they’ll be on the same clingy, fluffy page.

 “I mean,” Louis begins, fumbling around for words, “wouldn’t that be a little too fast? We only met last night.” Harry nods softly, the rejection easily visible on his face. Louis mentally sighs.

 “Hey,” he says, reaching a hand out to Harry, twirling one of his ridiculous curls around his finger, “I do want to see you again, you know.” Harry lifts his head and looks at him through his lashes, a sliver of hope back into his beautiful green eyes. Louis never wants to see those eyes sad. “I just think bringing you over to my actual job is rushing it a little bit,” he says. Never mind that Harry really can’t come along, because to human standard, he doesn’t actually _have_ a job. “Besides,” he says and smirks, cupping Harry’s jaw, “you’d only be a distraction.”

 Harry smiles again at that, a warm, crooked grin, hands wrapping themselves around Louis’ waist again and pulling him in closer.

 “See!” Louis exclaims, and pretends to try to fight Harry off. “Distraction! Complete befuddlement! Demoralization! Help, I’m being entranced!” He plants his palm in Harry’s face and Harry just licks it, making Louis’ shriek out. Harry keeps him wrapped tight in his arms, Louis pushing and pulling at every area of the boy’s body that he can reach like that. Harry feels strong, but soft, and before long their lips have found each other again. Their kiss is a little more rushed this time, more pressure, more teeth.

 “Fine!” Harry says melodramatically, breaking apart from the kiss with a gasp, and pushes Louis out of the tiny, smudgy kitchen towards the living room. “Leave then! I hear how it is. Your job is more important than I am!”

 “Baby, no,” Louis plays along easily, “why can’t you see that I work so hard _because_ of you?”

 Harry pushes the shirt that Louis had taken off before going to sleep last night into his hands, a big fake pouty lip jutted out at him.

 “You say you do it for us, but I saw the way you looked at your secretary at the Christmas formal!” Harry says, his voice pitching high.

 Louis slips the shirt over his vest, protesting to Harry’s accusations, only to be hit in the chest with his shoes. He fakes a big _oof_ and slips into the worn down Vans easily.

 “Babe, think of the kids,” he implores Harry, who responds with a comically offended face.

 “ _I_ think of the kids? How about _you_ think of the kids, next time you bend Greg over your desk!”

 Louis is being manhandled towards the front door, grabs his jacket in the hallway.

 “Out!” Harry shrieks at him. “I never want to see your face again!” He opens the door and pushes Louis through. Once outside, Louis turns around.

 “Dinner and a movie tomorrow night?” He asks.

 “Sounds great. Pick me up at six?”

 “Will do.”

 Louis kisses Harry once more, a short peck that may or may not have lingered a little too long, and turns around to walk away. He walks all the way to the underground station, just in case Harry is watching, before turning invisible.

 Vaguely, he wonders that the two of them seem to have fallen into an easy banter already. He doesn’t usually click very well with others – even Niall had taken ages to win over – but with Harry, everything is just easy. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about that.

* * *

Barbara and John are literally and figuratively a match made in Heaven. Louis doesn’t even have to use his arrows to make the two fall in love with each other.

Thanks to a tip from Niall about a possible future match for these two, he had indeed been following them around, and it had been obvious from the start that even without intervention, the two had been head over heels for each other. They had just been absurdly shy about it.

So, long before Simon's call, Louis hauled Niall over and started plotting. Barbara and John were colleagues, so Niall and Louis placed themselves in the company and befriended John and Barbara respectively (Louis was currently pleading with management to have a friendship arrow manufactured in order to make his own interference easier, but he hadn’t gotten a green light yet. Niall was already working on it).

After the two of them had firmly positioned themselves as decent friends of the two future lovebirds, Louis and Niall had started seeking each other out at work, greeting each other in the hallways and sitting next to each other at lunch, dragging John and Barbara along.

Unsurprisingly, they had hit it off straight away, and a connection was forged. Instead of pining after each other from a distance, they now had a more substantial bond.

Of course, when they had started asking Louis and Niall for advice, the two of them had totally pushed them towards asking the other out. The timing was so incredibly perfect, that in the end they both walked up to the other with the intention to ask for a date. Watching them fumble for words was incredibly cute and sort of made Louis’ heart melt.

The first couple of dates, Louis was there with them the entire time, ready to intervene should it prove to be necessary, but they were doing absolutely amazing on their own. Pretty soon, the two made their relationship Facebook official, and Louis’ job was done. Well, he would have to check in with them every few months or so, but he had a good feeling about these two.

All in a month’s work.

* * *

One month in, and Louis is ready to jump off a bridge. Not that it would do him much good.

He and Harry are doing really, really fantastic. Whenever they're together, Harry keeps looking at him with these big, stupid eyes and it's all Louis can do not to tear his hair out and run away screaming. It's unfair, is what it is.

Niall keeps telling him to just relax and enjoy it, Zayn and Liam keep sending him these grateful glances, as if he's the best thing that ever happened to their friend, and Harry looks at him like he hung the moon. And it hurts like a bitch, knowing that it's all fake, that it will fade away somewhere within the next five months.

To make matters worse, his self-proclaimed new best friends have instated a weekly pub crawl, meaning a wonderfully drunk and clingy Harry every Friday. Louis wishes he could hate Liam and Zayn, but they're just lovely lads, really. Besides, he's pretty sure Niall came up with the idea. The others just hadn't protested much.

In hindsight, it is a bit suspicious that they went along so easily. Liam didn't drink much at all – something to do with a ridiculous story about his kidney – and for Zayn it meant not seeing Perrie. Louis decides to take it as a testament to their newly found friendship.

They're stumbling in the streets, singing horribly off-key, but very loudly. Harry has his arm slung around Louis' shoulder, heavy with lazy inebriation, while up ahead, Niall is running circles around Liam, claiming to be looking for the perfect angle to jump up for a piggy back ride.

Louis snorts, knowing that however much alcohol Niall had had that night, it wouldn't have had this much influence on his system. Angel perks – or drawbacks, depending on how you look at it.

Zayn seems to be content just watching the two of them, almost doubling over with laughter when Niall finally launches himself at Liam's back, and misses spectacularly.

“This is nice,” Harry says from beside him, and Louis is painfully reminded of the arm around his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees despite himself, because no matter how messed up it is, it does feel nice. Harry is warm and solid, and Louis just _fits_ under his arms. They walk on in sort-of comfortable silence, until Niall comes skidding to a halt in front of them, Liam and Zayn not far behind.

“Lads, I've decided that we should go to the beach!” he happily proclaims. Harry looks confused.

“Isn't it a bit late for that?” he asks, trying to wrap his head around the possibility that Niall genuinely thinks this is a good idea right now, and not wanting to offend him.

“Not this very moment, H,” Zayn butts in. “In a couple of weeks or so.”

“Yeah, Liam says, “make sure everyone can get off from work and maybe rent a cabin down in Kent.” Leave it to Liam to think of the logistics first.

“I hear Whitstable is lovely, this time of summer,” Niall concludes, and he sounds as if the decision is already made. Louis is shooting daggers at Niall, but the lad doesn't seem to notice.

“That does sound nice,” Harry ponders. Louis can feel the boy starting to hype himself up beside him. “We could barbecue, build a campfire,” he says, probably thinking out loud more than actually actively contributing to the conversation. “What do you think, Lou?” He asks, looking down at Louis with a big smile.

Louis looks up at Harry and is met by eyes shining with anticipation and excitement, and Louis is sold. He can't even think of whatever objections he had in the first place. He wouldn't ever be able to deny anything to someone looking that enthusiastic.

“Sure, sounds great,” he says, embracing the fact that very soon he would be faced with a sun-kissed Harry, warm and cuddly and probably a bit sunburned. If he's being completely honest, he is actually looking forward to it a bit.

“Awesome!” Niall exclaims. He hooks his arm into Liam's and the two of them are off, discussing details of the now definitely upcoming trip. Harry pulls Louis in for a lazy kiss, tasting of beer and tequila. Zayn throws one look at them and follows Niall and Liam.

“Hey, are you okay?” Harry asks, reaching for Louis' hand before they follow their friends down the street. Louis has no idea where they're going, but that's usually what happens every Friday evening. Eventually, they'll run into an entrance to the underground that they recognize and make their way home from there.

“Yeah, why?” Louis replies, keeping his eyes on the road.

“I don't know. You seem a bit off tonight,” Harry explains. Louis mentally congratulates himself for not giving Harry the idea that anything was off way earlier, even though most of the time he feels like physically beating himself up for his mistake at the café.

“I'm fine,” Louis says, but apparently that's not good enough for Harry, because the boy stops to look at him. When Louis keeps staring at the ground, Harry lifts his chin with two fingers, making him stare up into Harry's ridiculous eyes.

“No you're not,” he simply says. “Talk to me.”

Louis sighs. How can he go about explaining how he feels to Harry, without breaking the kid's heart with the truth? The other guys have gone around the corner, but Harry seems in no hurry to catch up.

“It's just,” Louis starts, “aren't you ever afraid of what will happen if we don't work out?”

Harry looks puzzled. “No,” he says, as if it's a given. Louis huffs. Leave it to Harry to be unrealistically optimistic about everything. About Louis, even though he really has very little to go on after only a month of dating.

Harry has a hesitant look on his face, as if he's unsure that he should say what he's about to say. “You've never been in a relationship before, have you?” he asks quietly. Louis shakes his head to confirm, not sure where Harry is going with this. Harry nods, as if that explains everything.

“It's okay if relationships don't work out, Lou,” he elaborates. “I mean, yeah, it really sucks at the time. Maybe your pride gets hurt, or people turn out not to be what they seem, but after a while that leaves and you're left with a beautiful memory. Because, for whatever reason two people break up, they were together, too. They were happy, at one point. So really, whether it'll work out or not, you're always left with some extra good memories.”

For the first time that evening, Louis really allows himself to look up into Harry's eyes and he's met with so much love and acceptance that he doesn't know what to do for a second. He really wants to believe him, he wants to believe that no matter what happens when the arrow stops working, he won't leave Harry in a miserable, broken mess. He wants to believe that he's giving Harry happy memories.

“You make me really happy, Lou,” Harry whispers, leaning his forehead against Louis'.

“You make me really happy, too,” Louis whispers back, and he realizes it's true. He realizes that there's nothing that Harry could do that would make him hate the boy in the long run. Sure, he could get hurt bad enough to not want to speak to him for a while, or not want to date him any more, but no matter what happens, he'll already have this beautiful month of amazing memories and a wonderful boy by his side.

For the first time, he feels like he can truly let himself enjoy this.

* * *

 

Two weeks later, on a Thursday evening, Louis is sleeping over at Harry's place again. He vaguely wonders how long he can keep visiting without Harry realizing that they've never been to his place yet. To prevent that from ever happening, Louis has started looking into getting his own place to invite Harry to in the near future. He's almost closing a deal on a lovely apartment on the south side of the Thames, a quaint little place with a riverside view.

 Harry is tucked comfortably against Louis' side while Louis is absent mindedly flipping channels. Louis still wonders about the defects of modern technology. For instance, over two hundred channels available on TV, but no interesting programs whatsoever. He watches an artsy French drama unfold for a couple of moments, but even that can't hold his interest for long.

 Harry is tracing patterns on Louis' leg and while it was comforting at first, Louis is now noticing that the boy's hand is ever so slowly moving up, and it's becoming distracting. He gently places his hand over Harry's and moves it back towards his knee again. Harry makes a displeased noise.

 “You okay, love?” Louis asks, moving his hand up to trace through Harry's curls.

 Harry cuddles up closer and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “It's just... well... never mind, it's not important.”

 Louis moves back at that to look Harry in the eye.

 “You know you're going to have to tell me now, right?” he says. “Can't have you getting me all curious and then withholding information. No sir, spit it out.”

 Harry giggles and wraps his arms around Louis again.

 “Fine,” he says. “Just remember, you asked for it.”

 “I shall,” Louis nods solemnly.

 “It's just, you know I really like you, right?” Harry says, and Louis nods. “Right. And you're like, you're really hot, Louis. You're insanely attractive,” he continues and Louis snorts. “Shush!” Harry reprimands. “I'm being serious. You're really bloody fit, Lou, and I mean, like... I'm only human... and, I dunno, sometimes I would like to...”

 “Do more than kissing?” Louis finishes for him, gently. He'd be lying if he said it hadn't been at the back of his mind ever since that first night. He's glad they've taken it much slower than that, but lately he's been thinking that maybe, the time has come to allow himself to go a bit further.

 Harry nods, his face flushed red, and Louis tilts his head up.

 “I'd like that, too,” he says. Immediately, Harry's pupils dilate a bit.

 “Like, now?” Harry asks, a bit breathless. Slowly, Louis nods and lowers his head to gently peck Harry on the lips. Immediately, Harry crawls up to sit on Louis' lap and cradles his face between his massive hands. He kisses him hard before moving on to trail kisses down Louis' neck.

 “Oh God, Lou, you have no idea how much I've been holding myself back,” he murmurs between kisses. When he gets to Louis' collar bone he nips at it lightly with his teeth and Louis gasps. “I wanted you so bad, Lou,” he says, grinding his hips against Louis', and the friction is delicious. Louis decides that he wants access to Harry's neck as well, so he flips them over, positioning himself on top of Harry, pressing the boy back against the couch.

 He makes quick work of the buttons of Harry's shirt, while Harry starts tugging at Louis' tee. Louis allows Harry to tug it up over his head and then returns to get rid of Harry's shirt as well. He bends down to lick and kiss behind Harry's ear and the skin-to-skin contact feels amazing. Harry's skin is so soft, so pale, begging for hickeys and love bites.

 While he's sucking on Harry's earlobe, he brings up a hand to gently tease his nipple and is very pleasantly surprised when Harry arches up from the couch at the touch. Harry has sensitive nipples – good. He kisses his way down Harry's neck, over his tattoos, until he reaches his nipple. He laves at it, sucking and nipping, while rubbing the other one between his thumb and forefinger. Harry groans loudly and presses his hips up, looking for friction.

 When Louis looks down, he can see Harry is definitely tenting in his trousers, and he grins. Not that his own situation is any better, but still. He switches nipples and brings his hand down to grind against Harry's crotch a bit.

 It doesn't take long before Harry is writhing underneath him. “Please,” the boy pants, “can you... ah... take them off, please.” Harry's hands are fumbling at his own zipper, but he seems to be a little uncoordinated. Louis bats his hands away and undoes them for him. It's a bit awkward getting them off, because they're on top of each other on a couch, and there's giggling and limbs bumping into each other, but eventually they get the job done and Louis removes his own.

 Harry looks beautiful, naked and stretched out, arching into every touch. His cheeks are slightly rosy and his eyes shine, his slips slightly redder and a bit puffy.

 “You're so beautiful,” Louis whispers, leaning down so Harry can feel his lips move against his ear, pressing a leg in between Harry's so they can press their hips together. The feeling is incredible, feeling Harry hard against him, knowing that he's responsible for that.

 He trails a long line of kisses down Harry's neck, pausing to suck a mark where his neck meets his shoulder. Harry actually moans at that and when Louis pulls back to see the slightly purple skin, he feels incredibly pleased with himself.

 Their rutting becomes more frantic and Louis repositions himself, reaches down so he can take both himself and Harry in his hand, giving them something to fuck up in.

 “Fuck, Lou,” Harry pants, snapping his hips up and wrapping his own hand around Louis'. They keep it up, building a rhythm where Louis thrusts up as Harry moves down. Not once do they break eye contact, unless Louis leans in or Harry lifts up for a kiss, all swirling tongue and nipping teeth.

 “Close,” Louis groans, feeling pressure build in his abdomen quickly. His thrusts become erratic and he feels Harry losing the rhythm as well.

 “Me too,” Harry says, voice so breathy Louis can hardly make out what he says.

 Harry is the first to go over, shouting, his come providing lube for Louis, who thrusts into their clenched fists twice before coming himself. They lazily keep their hips moving through the aftershocks, Louis falling down on top of Harry, unable to support his weight any longer.

 “That was amazing,” Harry says, once he's found his voice back, “you're amazing.”

 Louis smirks, face pressed in Harry's neck. “You're not so bad yourself,” he praises.

 “And this was our first go,” Harry states, in wonder. “Firsts are supposed to be awkward.” Louis supposes he's right. They had their share of logistic problems, but that was to be expected on a couch instead of on a bed like normal people.

 “Well,” Louis says, “you know what they say.” He can feel Harry smile.

 “Practice makes perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think and leave kudos <3
> 
> Also, come say hi on my [tumblr](http://goingtofixmyhome.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had been excited about their weekend away from the moment they had decided they would go. Which was ,what, about a month ago now? He was also very pleased that, in this month, Louis and Niall had slotted in with his friends even more. It's not like Harry felt that everyone had to love each other as much as he did, but yeah, it would be great if everyone loved each other as much as he did.

Louis is driving all of them from London down to Whitstable, and Harry is very much regretting letting him do so.

“I'm pretty sure the engine isn't supposed to make that noise,” Niall voices everyone's thoughts from the back seat.

“Shut it, my driving is ace,” Louis snaps back, but Harry sees him surreptitiously shift gears, skipping from second to fifth, and the car stops sounding like it's about to die.

“Are we there yet?” Zayn asks, voice quiet and small. It's probably because he looks like he's about to vomit from all Louis' swerving. It also doesn't help that they actually have very little space in the back row. Niall, on the right, takes up a suspicious amount of space for such a small guy. Liam (who, to his credit is trying to make himself as small as possible, but is just too broad and muscular) is in the middle seat, leaving Zayn to be squished against the window on the left side.

Harry looks at the sat nav.

“Seventeen more minutes, Zayn,” Harry says, and he feels truly sorry for not being able to give more positive news. After more than two hours of driving, they're all more than ready to throw themselves out on the highway if it meant escaping from Louis' driving. “If you want to, we can stop over for a little while though,” he offers.

Zayn shakes his head. “I just want to get there as soon as possible,” he says, sounding like he'd rather wrestle two sharks in deep water, a lead belt around his waist, than extend this trip any more than strictly necessary. And Zayn can't swim.

“I'm driving us back,” Liam says, from where he's hunched in on himself. Liam's a strong guy, both physically and mentally, but even he looks like he's about to cough up his breakfast.

“You're not putting your ridiculously reasonable driving style anywhere near my baby, Leemo,” Louis says over his shoulder, driving half into the right lane while doing so. The car behind them honks and Louis flips the driver off.

Just then, they get to the top of a hill, and below them is the town of Whitstable, the sea sparkling in the sunlight on the horizon. It's breathtaking, but mostly, Harry is just really relieved that he won't have to choose between sticking up for Louis and keeping the contents of his stomach on the inside anymore soon.

Their seventeen minutes turn into fifty minutes, as they get stuck behind what appears to be half of Kent deciding to go to the beach, and by the time they reach their cabin, everyone is beyond relieved to get out of the car.

Limbs are stretched, backs are popped, looks of relief are shared all around. They unceremoniously dump their luggage in the living room, taking only enough time to pull out their swimming trunks and beach towels, before speeding off to the beach.

“I've got the beer!” Niall calls, running back though the front door, instead of out of the back door along with the other boys, to get the cooler from the car. No one had even dared touch a beer during the drive. He's caught up with them before they have even properly spread out their towels, and Harry vaguely wonders whether maybe the Irish feed their young shamrocks for more energy. But then again, Louis also always seems to have a never ending supply of hyper, and he's pretty sure that his boyfriend has no Irish heritage whatsoever.

Proving Harry's point, Louis leaps onto Harry's back (“Jetpacking”, Niall had called it, much to Louis' chagrin and Harry's amusement), exclaiming “onward, my valiant steed!” and trying to steer Harry towards the sea by tugging on his hair.

Somehow, Niall manages to be the first one splashing into the water, bodily throwing himself in. He resurfaces, yells “fucking freezing!” and dives in again. Liam is at the shoreline, in to his ankles, and putting his wrists in to let his body get used to the temperature. Harry feels Louis slipping off his back and briefly wonders whether he should warn Liam, before he decides against it and plops himself down to sit in the waves. The water is indeed quite cold, but that's to be expected of the sea, and Harry refuses to shiver.

He looks over to Louis just in time to see him tackle Liam, making the poor boy fall face-first into the water. When the boy gets his feet back under him he's somewhere between spluttering and yelling at Louis, setting off immediately to repay him. Within seconds, Niall is running after them, cheering them on.

“Bloody wankers,” Zayn calls at them from where he's perched on the towels, nursing a beer, a big smile plastered on his face. Harry suddenly feels quite rude – if he's sitting any way, he might as well sit with Zayn – so he excuses himself to the sea and trots back over through the warm sand to join his friend.

A shrill shriek can be heard from where Liam has apparently exacted his revenge. Harry lowers himself down on his towel, meaning he lets himself fall and hopes the sand will be there to catch him. Once he's sitting up again, he graciously accepts an opened beer from Zayn.

“I don't know what you did to find those two tossers, H,” Zayn says, the corner of his lip still quirked up.

“They do fit in very nicely, don't they?” Harry muses happily. “But mate, you found Lou before I even had a chance.”

“To be fair,” Zayn says, interrupting himself by sipping from his beer, “he found me.”

“True,” Harry smiles, recounting the night at the cafe. He'll never stop thanking whatever gods are out there for that night.

Right then, Louis throws himself into Harry's lap, hair wet and skin cold.

“Cuddle me Hazza, 'm freezing,” he demands, and Harry gladly obliges. Liam and Niall follow shortly after, claiming it's “too ruddy cold” to stay in the water.

The sun drops towards the horizon while the boys talk about nothing. At one point, Niall disappears to get a football and his guitar (“For later tonight,” he entrusts Harry, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that is probably meaningful), Zayn offers to get some food (returning with more beer and six portions of chicken and chips, because Niall had demanded two portions for himself) and Liam takes it upon himself to build a big, safe camp fire.

They all play footie for a little while, and as expected, Harry is bloody awful. He volunteers to be goalie, so at least the other boys will feel very good about themselves for being able to score so much.

When the sun has completely set, they all settle down on their towels and Niall pulls out his guitar, proclaiming that everyone has to sing along, no exceptions.

“Mate, you know I sing like shite,” Louis complains. Niall absently tunes his guitar.

“I know no such thing,” he says, not interrupting his tuning. Louis is not the only one looking uncomfortable though. Liam is twiddling his thumbs and Zayn keeps making aborted motions, as if he wants to light up a cigarette. Harry feels bad. He's well aware that they are self conscious about their singing around Harry, because he's the only one who wants to do it professionally. It's ridiculous, as far as Harry is concerned, because Liam has a more stable voice than he has and Zayn riffs like an angel, but they never listen when Harry tells them so.

Niall strums the first chords to Wonderwall, and Louis groans loudly.

“If I have to listen to Wonderwall one more time, I'll throw your guitar into the sea, I swear,” he says, looking thoroughly done. Harry thinks it's cute, but he doesn't say so. Instead, he picks up Louis' arm, and cuddles up to his side underneath it.

“Alright,” Niall says, and switches to Kumbayaa.

“No,” Louis says.

Niall starts It's a Small World After All.

“No.”

Niall starts the Macarena, surprisingly knowing all the words.

“Niall, no,” Louis whines.

“Niall, _yes_ ,” Niall says, wiggling his eyebrows and causing the rest of the group to erupt in giggles. He switches to Torn, and Harry sits up in interest.

“Oh my God,” Louis groans, and Harry slaps a hand over his mouth.

“No, I like this one,” he says. To his right, Liam has softly started to sing the first verse. Louis licks Harry's hand, and Harry lets go with a very manly yelp.

“You have terrible taste in music, Harold,” Louis chides, but he sounds more resigned than anything.

At the chorus, Harry takes over the melody, Liam singing a harmony above it, and Niall picking up a harmony below it. After a couple of beats, Louis starts singing along with the melody, and Harry is pleasantly surprised. He has never heard Louis sing before, but the guy's got a great voice.

By the time they reach the second chorus, everyone is singing along loudly, Zayn riffing like the R&B genius he secretly is. They finish the song, holding the final chord a little longer than strictly necessary, and stop at the same time. They remain in awed silence for a little.

“That kinda sounded great,” Liam says, a note of surprise in his voice.

“We should totally start a boy band,” Niall says. Harry agrees completely, but doesn't voice it, because Niall is clearly joking, and Harry is deadly serious about it.

“But what to call ourselves?” Zayn says, fake pondering.

“East Life,” Louis deadpans.

“Frontstreet Boys,” Zayn offers.

“The Village Humans,” Liam contributes.

“Manzone,” Harry muses.

“Boys, please,” Niall interrupts, raising his hands to quiet everyone down. He looks everyone in the eye. “Those are terrible.” He fine tunes his guitar a little. “Clearly, we should be called Take This.” Everyone bursts out laughing.

Harry looks down at Louis and thinks that he would really like being famous with him and the other boys, touring the world in dingy little theatres, maybe even filling up arenas. He lets himself dream about screaming crowds, cheering for him and Louis, and cuddles up to his boyfriend a little more. Louis drops a lingering kiss to his head and Harry makes a pleased noise.

“You two really are disgustingly cute,” Zayn says with a fond smile. “I swear, at least Perrie and I were never this revolting.”

Liam snorts loudly. “Don't kid yourself, Malik,” he says. “You're probably even worse.”

“Not possible,” Louis says. “Hazza and I are totally the worst. Our fondness of PDA is greatly upsetting to homophobic Britain. Therefore, because of our hardship, we are doubly cute by default.” Harry smiles and squeezes Louis' hand.

“Doesn't that ever bother you?” Liam asks, suddenly serious. “People talking about you behind your back like that, I mean.” Louis makes a derisive noise.

“People talk shit, Payno, but we don't listen.”

* * *

 

By some unspoken agreement, everyone drags their mattresses to the living room that night, building a ridiculous nest of pillows and blankets that the cuddle up in. Harry's got his head in Liam's lap, his legs crossed. Zayn's got his head on Harry's belly, while Louis' got his head resting on pillow on Harry's crossed legs. Niall in turn has his head on Zayn's stomach, his legs tangling with Louis'.

Harry hasn't slept this well in ages.

* * *

  “Harry. Hazza. H. Harold.”

 Louis is shaking him gently, pressing kisses to his temple and hair, waking him up. Instead of responding coherently, Harry elects to let out a deep, grunting whale noise.

 “Shush, you'll wake up the rest!” Louis shout-whispers. Harry opens his eyes and looks around the nest. Liam has Zayn curled up to his chest, while Niall is spooning – Jetpacking – him. Harry smiles. He always knew Liam would be the little spoon.

 “Come on, I need to show you something,” Louis says, tugging on Harry's arm.

 “What time is it?” Harry asks, realizing that it's still completely dark.

 “Doesn't matter,” Louis says. “Come onnnnnn.” Harry is once again confused about where Louis gets these ridiculous amounts of energy, but he's awake now any way. Besides, Louis could tell him to jump off a building blind, and Harry would have the fullest confidence that there would be something soft for him to land on at the bottom. Getting up in the middle of the night isn't all that crazy. He pushes himself up from the nest, shakes out his curls from where they are stuck to his head and allows Louis to guide him outside.

 The night is warm in a way that's very un-British. Harry is only wearing his pants and a flimsy t-shirt, and he's nowhere near cold. Louis takes his hand and leads him down to the path to the beach. As they walk around a couple of trees packed densely together, the beach comes into view, and Harry's breath catches.

 The moon is hung fat and yellow above the water and the sky is littered with stars, their light caught and reflected tenfold by the calm sea. Near the water, two towels are spread out, three little tea lights in the centre, next to four bottles of beer and two bags of crisps.

 “Lou,” Harry says with a smile, “are you trying to wine and dine me?”

 “Maybe. Shut up,” Louis says, but he's smiling too.

 They trot down to the towels and sit down under the moonlight, staring at the sea. Louis passes Harry a beer, but he puts it down immediately. He looks Louis in his stupidly blue eyes and cups his face.

 “This is amazing,” he says. “Thank you.” He leans in and kisses him on the lips gently.

 “I know, I'm great,” Louis smirks, but his eyes are soft and playful. Harry nudges his nose against Louis' jaw and presses soft kisses to his neck. Louis puts his arms around Harry's waist, dropping his hands to his arse to pull him up into his lap. He seeks out Harry's mouth with his own, kissing him slowly and deeply.

 “God, I'm so gone for you,” Louis whispers, breaking away for air, and Harry carefully pushes Louis back onto the towels. There's sand everywhere, but he chooses not to care. He hovers over Louis, taking in his tan skin and the way his blue eyes catch the starlight.

 “You look like an angel,” Harry breathes softly. Louis laughs out loud, slapping his hand over his mouth to stop himself, and Harry is slightly insulted. He was being perfectly serious. Then again, he'll never complain about Louis' laugh. Instead, he leans down to push his lips against Louis' again, to show him he meant it, kisses him slow and wet. Louis' hands slip under his t-shirt to slide up his back and scratches a little. He immediately uses the moan it elicits to his benefit by slipping his tongue into Harry's mouth. Harry presses his hips down into Louis', grinding down in dirty, small circles, and Louis' legs slip open to let him.

 “We are severely overdressed,” Louis gasps, taking hold of the hem of Harry's shirt and sliding it up over his head.

 “Very,” Harry agrees solemnly, pushing up Louis' shirt in return, kissing and nibbling his way up Louis' belly and chest, taking his sweet time to lick and bite and explore all the lines of Louis' torso. Louis lifts his arms above his head to let the shirt off, immediately reaching down afterwards to cup Harry through his pants. Harry grinds down into Louis' hands, chasing after _good good good_ and bites down on Louis' neck.

 Harry himself bruises like a peach, but no matter how hard he tries, he's never managed to mark Louis up significantly. It frustrates him beyond reason.

 He licks a trail down Louis' chest, pinching one nipple and biting down on the other gently, revelling in the way Louis arches up underneath him, small gasps leaving his mouth involuntarily. He works his way down, eventually breathing hotly over Louis' erection, trapped in his pants.

 “May I..?” he asks, mouthing over Louis' tip.

 “Oh God, _yes, please_ ,” Louis groans, breathing hard and having trouble not pushing his hips up towards Harry's face.

 Harry takes as much time removing Louis' pants as he did removing his shirt, kissing the inside of his thighs, trying to suck a mark into the smooth skin in vain. He kisses his knees, shins, ankles, and when he discards the pants in the direction of _not on Louis_ , he mouths his way back up, kissing and licking everywhere but where Louis really needs it.

 He cups his balls, gently playing with them before moving them out of the way to lick and suck at the skin underneath. Louis is trembling hard by the time Harry decides he's been teasing long enough.

 “Can you.. would you...” Harry starts, a little breathless, not sure how to ask for what he wants. They had talked about this before, but they never really tried it.

 “Anything, anything for you babe,” Louis says, sounding completely broken. He looks down at where Harry is hovering over his hips and _God_ , he looks so beautiful to Harry, wrecked and messed up, face flushed, needy. Harry takes a deep breath and stumbles out his request.

 “Will you fuck my mouth?” he asks. Louis lets out a deep, guttered moan and wraps his hands in Harry's hair firmly as an answer.

 “You're going to be the death of me, Styles,” he rasps. He pushes down almost immediately and Harry hardly has time to open his mouth in time, before it's stuffed with Louis. It's overwhelming, Louis' hand firm in his hair, giving up control like this. Louis doesn't push Harry down very far at first, testing the waters, but he doesn't hesitate when Harry strains against the hold on his hair, struggling to get more of Louis inside his mouth.

 Rather than fucking up into his mouth, Louis pushes and pulls Harry's face up and down, leaving a small semblance of control for Harry. The feeling of Louis against the back of his throat, the almost constant tugging on his hair and the struggle for air is making Harry harder than he's been in ages. When Louis starts making it clear that he's about to come, alleviating the push and pull to give Harry the choice to back off, Harry just starts working harder, sneaking a hand in between his own legs, until Louis is _finally_ fucking up into him. Harry moans and Louis comes down his throat, making whining, needy noises, sending Harry off over the edge, too.

 Harry sucks Louis through his orgasm, even when he's trembling all over from his own pleasure, until Louis pulls him off his cock and up, so he can collapse on Louis' chest. Louis is flat on his back, trying to catch his breath, when he tries to roll Harry over.

 “Let me, Haz,” he says, visibly having rouble to get his body to do anything. Harry gently pushes him back.

 “Can't,” he says, “not twice in a row, any way.” He nuzzles up against Louis, absent mindedly peppering kisses over his shoulder, collar bone and neck.

 Louis looks up in surprise, straining to look at Harry's come-stained pants, moaning at the sight.

 “You're amazing,” he says, “incredible. So good.” He keeps muttering sweet nothings until Harry's mind is filled with them, until Harry is dozing off listening to the push and pull of the tide, watching the moonlight dancing on the water, thinking that like this, it's not so hard to believe in magic.

* * *

 It's one of those nights where neither of them have a very good excuse to hang out with each other, but they still do. They're on the floor in front of Harry's bed, wrapped in several blankets and surrounded by loads of pillows. Really, Harry didn't even know he owned this many pillows.

 Around seven, Zayn joins them for a little while, bringing in instant noodles with him as well as some spliff that he happily shares with Louis. Harry himself isn't big on smoking, content with a mild contact high, but he has to admit that it makes Louis very soft and giggly. It is nice.

 They have existential debates that are more funny to Harry than actually useful, but Zayn and Louis are really into it, coming up with solutions for capitalism and world hunger without batting an eyelash.

 After a while, they somehow switch the subject to Western religion and the aspects of mythology surrounding it, and suddenly Harry is a lot more in his element, what with his theology minor. To his surprise, Louis has some pretty outspoken opinions on it as well, but some of the things he is talking about are just downright ridiculous.

 “No, I'm serious!” Louis says, gesturing wildly. “Who says there's only one God? That makes _no_ sense whatsoever!”

 “Louis,” Harry pleads, “I'm not saying that's what I personally believe, it's just that in every single documented piece on Christianity, there's only one God at a time.”

 “Wait,” Zayn interrupts, “does that mean there could have been different Gods in succession, as long as there was only one at the same time?”

 “Zayn, please,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “Even if they weren't the same person, there's no way that only one dude runs the entirety of Heaven and earth. That's just not logistically possible.”

 Harry, refusing to be endeared by Louis' pretentious know-it-all attitude, makes a whining noise in the back of his throat. “Loooouis, it's Heaven for fuck's sake, who cares about logistics? God's supposed to be omnipotent, of course he can run everything. Besides, who even believes in God anymore nowadays? It's basically mythology, now.”

 Zayn murmurs his assent, but Louis remains suspiciously quiet.

 “Oh God, you're religious, aren't you Louis? I'm so sorry!” Harry says, reaching out for his boyfriend and trying to get across that it's not shameful to believe in a higher power. “It's just, with the way society is nowadays, there seems to be so little room for deities. I actually really appreciate people who still find the time for such spirituality,” Harry says, but before he even finishes completely, Louis is shaking with laughter.

 “No, Harry,” he wheezes, “I'm not religious exactly. I mean, I'm absolutely certain that death isn't the end, but I'm also positive that there isn't a religion in the world that knows the truth. Oh man, you should have seen your _face!”_

 Both Louis and Zayn are gone in a fit of giggles and Harry only manages to pretend to be offended for a couple of seconds before joining in. He really likes this about Louis. They might not always be on the same page, but they can talk about anything and don't hesitate to make fun of each other and themselves.

 Zayn leaves when the high wears off a bit, not having smoked that much, only to be called out by Liam, who invites everyone into the living room for a game of good, old-fashioned Tekken.

 They team up and Harry protests violently when Liam and Zayn want to form a pair, having experienced first hand how incredibly in tune the two of them are and how it makes it near impossible to beat them, but to his surprise, he and Louis aren't that bad at all. Most of the time, they can predict what the other one will do before they do it and jump in when it's necessary.

 They actually win over half of the matches. Not to mention, Louis gets really into it, screaming when something goes wrong, spitting out words Harry wasn't even aware that Louis knew and doing ridiculous victory dances whenever they win a round. It's very cute, and Harry is distinctly reminded why he fell for Louis so quickly.

 Louis is just so lively, so sweet and so into anything he starts. Watching him is like watching a thunderstorm happen from a safe distance on a warm summer's night. It's impressive and intimidating, but also beautiful and peculiar, something unique that only a select few people get to witness. Most of the time, Harry feels like he's in the middle of it, but it feels more like the thunderstorm is trying to protect him from other things, rather than making him the target. It's wonderful, and he's never felt so safe.

 They play well into the night until Harry remembers that he has an early class the next day, sending his housemates in a panic because Liam has the same class and Zayn had promised to bring a new painting to the gallery tomorrow, but he hasn't finished it yet.

 Within minutes, both Zayn and Liam have retreated to their respective rooms, and Harry finds Louis putting on his shoes.

 “Oh come on, the floor isn't _that_ dirty,” Harry jokes. Louis smiles sweetly.

 “It really is, Haz,” he teases, “but I'm more concerned about all the crap in the streets than about your living room.”

 Harry kneels down in front of where Louis is sitting on the couch and puts his hands on Louis' knees.

 “Stay,” he says softly. “I know I have to leave early tomorrow, but please stay the night?”

 Louis looks him in the face and within seconds, Harry knows he's given in. He sighs obnoxiously loud.

 “Fine! I guess I'll subject myself to your grating presence some more!” he exclaims theatrically, one hand on his forehead as if he's going to faint.

 “Well you don't have to,” Harry says, trying to get up. “Feel free to leave if you must.”

 “No!” Louis launches himself at Harry with an unexpected bout of energy and wraps himself around Harry's arm. “I wanna stay,” he murmurs softly, sounding like he's aiming for a joke while simultaneously trying to reassure Harry that he really doesn't want to leave. Harry is completely charmed.

 “Well, come on then, let's go to bed.” He says, ushering Louis to his room.

 They fall asleep facing each other, foreheads touching, arms wrapped loosely around each other's waists, legs intertwined.

* * *

 They're together for three months and a couple of weeks when Louis invites Harry back to his place, and although he's trying to play it cool, Harry is psyched about the development.

 It's a Friday night, after their usual pub crawl, and when they find an underground station from where everyone can take a train home, Louis slings his arm through Harry's and pulls him towards the Jubilee line, whereas Harry would normally get on the Victoria line, to transfer to the Northern line at Stockwell together with Liam and Zayn. There were definite perks to being each other's roommates – one of them being always having a shoulder to lean on when they were drunkenly shambling back to their shared house.

 “Lou, babe, our train is this way,” he says, trying to steer him towards the other entrance.

 “I know love, my place is closer though,” Louis says, obviously aiming for casual but failing spectacularly. Harry even catches Niall's surprised look – there for barely a second, but Harry's a keen observer like that. Even when tipsy.

 The thing is, it's a really big deal to Harry. It had been obvious from the start that Louis wasn't all that big on commitment, so Harry had waited him out in most things. Heck, officially they never even became boyfriends, it was just assumed. The fact that Louis had been willing to go down to Whitstable with them had been downright shocking. So this, Louis inviting him into a part of his life that had previously been clearly off-limits, is huge. This is much more than Harry had been hoping for at this point.

 “Alright,” Harry says as if it's not the most amazing thing to have happened in this relationship so far. “Guys, I'm staying at Lou's tonight!” he yells over at Liam, Zayn and Niall, who were up ahead heading towards the Victoria line. Zayn acknowledges he's heard him by raising a hand, Liam acknowledges it by giving a thumbs up and a big-ass grin, and Niall goes so far as to actually whistle. Harry waves as the three disappear down another hallway.

 They get off at London Bridge and Harry is already impressed. He'd known Louis was employed, but he must be really good at what he does, because in order to live in this area, he'd have to be loaded. They walk a good ten minutes past the river Thames, arms hooked to keep each other walking in a straight line, until Louis guides him into a decently modern looking building that's actually _right next to the river._ Holy hell, Louis is probably a millionaire. Harry is dating a millionaire. He is a sugar baby.

 The inside of Louis' apartment is even fancier than the outside. Everything is black, or white or grey, or glass, and everything looks equally expensive. It has three bedrooms, _three_ , with bloody en suite bathrooms, a huge dining/living room and a balcony facing the river with a spectacular view of St. Paul's cathedral, and right besides the building is...

 “Tits on a bull, is that the Globe? You live next to the bleeding Globe?” Harry exclaims, voice slurring, looking around to find Louis still lingering in the doorway to one of the bedrooms.

 “I... yeah. Do you like it?” Louis asks, sounding small and unsure. Harry strides over to him – which takes forever, because the room is fucking huge – and kisses him on the lips.

 “ _Like_ it? Lou, this is the most amazing apartment I've ever been in,” he says, filling his voice with admiration. “It's brilliant. Makes me feel bad about putting you up on my lumpy bed the entire time, to be honest.”

 “Oh no, please don't! I love your place!” Louis exclaims, and Harry is certain that Louis actually means it. He loves his own place, too. It may be a tiny student room in a shared house, but it's his home. It holds all of what he is.

 Seemingly put at ease, Louis kisses Harry on the cheek.

 “Do you want tea?” Louis asks, and Harry nods.

 “Yes please.”

 Harry makes himself comfortable on the big soft couch in the living room, his head softly spinning, and looks around a bit. He concludes that Louis really isn't one to share his life with others. Sure, his house looks amazing, but it's also cold and impersonal. The art on the walls looks like it was picked out by an art dealer. It's pretty, but it doesn't look like something Louis would pick for himself. The shelves are empty of trinkets and there are no family photo's.

Louis must have been very lonely, then.

“Does your family live in London?” Harry asks, prodding a little.

“Eh, no. They ehm... passed away, a long time ago,” Louis answers, voice small, in between the sounds of water boiling and cups bumping against each other in an uncoordinated attempt to get them ready. “Sugar?”

“Two, please,” Harry replies, deciding not to open the apparent hornet's nest that are Louis' issues with having no family left.

He thinks it's quite amazing, really, that he didn't feel like Louis was a rich person. He guesses he is a bit prejudiced when it comes to people with a large income. He's always imagined rich people as being snobby and looking down on others without even realizing they did it, but looking back, Harry has never felt that way about Louis. Louis was just one of the guys. Sure, he paid for the tab on pub night every now and then, but not all that much more than the others. He just thought it was because Louis is employed and Harry, Liam and Zayn are perpetually broke students in the most expensive city in the country. Niall probably paid just as often. Then again, come to think of it, Niall is probably just as loaded as Louis, working at the same company.

Louis cuddles up to Harry after he's passed him his tea, and Harry thinks that Louis looks utterly normal. He's wearing regular jeans and worn down Vans and a t-shirt that Harry recognizes form H&M, and Harry's reassured that he's found a truly great person in Louis. Someone who stays down to earth in the face of having a bank balance that's probably as many numbers as his phone number is someone special indeed.

“Hey,” Harry whispers into Louis' hair, “I don't want to pressure you into anything or make you uncomfortable, but, I just thought... you should know... I love you.” Harry's voice can hardly be heard over the hustle and bustle of outside noise and the vague drumming that's starting in his head, but he's sure Louis has heard him, because he stiffens up where's he's curled up against Harry for a couple of seconds. Then he relaxes.

“I love you too,” he says, quietly, as if it's a secret between the two of them, and Harry's pretty sure his smile should be breaking his face, it's so wide. Truth of the matter is, he's pretty sure he's  _in love_ with Louis, but he'll save that one for another day.

Instead, he puts his cup of tea down and yoinks Louis' cup out of his hands as well – much to Louis' dismay – so he can kiss his boyfriend properly without risk of tea burn.

It's slow, and burning, and it's everything that's good in this world, Harry thinks as he lets his lips drag against Louis'. Louis' hands find their way into his curls and Harry's hands wander down to Louis' hips and just like that, it's no longer slow, but needy and wanting. Harry shifts so he can press his body against Louis', grabs hold of his boyfriend's amazing arse to pull it in closer and lets out a soft groan when Louis starts nibbling on his earlobe.

“Lou,” Harry starts, but is interrupted by his own moan when Louis climbs up in his lap and drives his hips down against Harry's, “oh God, Lou, remember that thing that we talked about?”

“What thing,” Louis asks from where he's sucking another mark into Harry's collar bone to add to the collection.

“That thing where... ahh... I might be interested in -” Louis tugs on Harry's bottom lip with his teeth, pulling back and letting it slip out ever so slowly “- you bossing me around a bit and you -” Louis slips his hands in the back of Harry's skinny jeans and squeezes hard “- might be interested in that as well?”

Louis sits back on Harry's lap with a giant smirk on his face.

“Why Harold, all you had to do was ask,” he slips off Harry's lap, moving towards his bedroom, but turns around after a couple of steps.

“Why don't you pick one of the spare bedrooms,” he suggests, but his voice sounds firm, “undress and wait for me on the bed. Don't touch yourself.”

Harry didn't know he could get up this fast without stumbling over his own legs, but it takes him less than five seconds to burst into one of the bedrooms. He undresses in record time, taking a spare moment to fold his clothes neatly before he jumps onto the bed.

It's incredibly soft and comfortable, but not so soft that it doesn't offer any support or that the occupant would sink into it too much. It's perfect for what he has in mind tonight.

* * *

The next morning, Harry wakes up in Louis' bedroom, wondering how that tiny little man somehow had enough strength to carry him there. Louis is peacefully asleep beside him, and Harry finds that he's wrapped himself around him not entirely unlike a particularly clingy koala bear.

He unwraps himself and patters to the kitchen, after borrowing a pair of Louis' pants. The kitchen is just as ridiculous as the rest of the apartment, and Harry is pretty much sure that Louis doesn't even know how to use most of the equipment there.

To Harry's surprise, there's a stocked orange juice press on the counter, so he finds himself a cup, presses the button and soon finds himself with some of the best orange juice he's ever had. He checks the fridge, which is also stocked with things he's certain Louis doesn't eat. He probably has someone doing the grocery shopping for him.

He decides to make a nice breakfast for Louis, healthy and wholesome, unlike the gunk he's seen Louis eat on occasion.

It's when he's blending up some fruit and spinach for a smoothie that Harry notices a single photo frame on inner corner of the bar. His curiosity peaked – because Louis literally has nothing in his house that's even slightly personal – he picks it up. Immediately, he smiles. It's a picture of himself, Niall, Liam and Zayn in Whitstable.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and (if you want to) feedback! It's much appreciated!
> 
> Also, come say hi on my [tumblr](http://goingtofixmyhome.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

Louis is laying in Harry’s bed, the boy’s head of curly hear tucked up under his chin, tickling in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant. Harry’s got his arms wrapped around Louis’ belly, his cold feet tucked between Louis’ legs. He’s not asleep, Louis can tell, his breathing too shallow to be anything but wide awake.

It amazes him how, in relatively short time, he’s become so very familiar with everything about the boy. He knows the exact shape of his laugh lines, knows how his curls wash out when his hair is wet, and how they slowly reappear when it dries. He knows about the little birthmark on the bottom of his left pinky toe, knows how he takes his tea, knows where to tickle to make him gasp for breath. Louis strokes over Harry’s back and knows the satisfied sound that Harry makes before it even leaves his mouth.

Comfortable and warm, Louis kisses the top of Harry’s messy mop of curls before looking down on his boy with a dopey smile. Moonlight is swimming in through the window, making Harry’s skin glow and his hair shine. He looks so beautiful. Louis is so incredibly in love with him.

Wait.

He’s in love with him. The words echo around his head, _in love in love in love_ , and suddenly, his chest feels too tight, and his throat constricts. _In love in love in love._ He feels his body tense up, feels his breath get more shallow, feels Harry noticing all of it.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs sleepily, softly, “are you okay?” He tightens his hold around Louis’ waist, snuggling up even closer.

“I… - I’m…” Louis can’t seem to find his voice. “I love you,” he manages to squeeze out, his voice sounding tight.

“I love you too, Lou-boo,” Harry says, sounding confused. He looks up at Louis through his unfairly long eyelashes, blinking his unfairly green eyes.

“No – you don’t-”Louis is finding it increasingly hard to breathe, feeling like there’s a vice around his chest that just keeps getting tighter and tighter. “I’m in love with you, and you don’t even know-”

Harry sits up now, noticing that Louis is rapidly nearing full-fledged hysteria. He folds his legs underneath himself, spreads his knees and gently ushers Louis to lean back against his chest, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and chest, and holds him.

“Shh,” he whispers soothingly, gently rocking Louis from side to side “I’ll be the judge of whether I love you or not. Whether I’m in love. Because I am, too.” Louis can hear the smile in Harry’s voice, and he _can’t_ anymore. A wrecked sob forces its way out of Louis mouth.

“I made you,” he cries and knows that Harry doesn’t understand, but he feels like he needs to say it now, before it’s too late. “You didn't even – I made you!” His voice is high, words laced with hiccups, his body too tense to be able to function properly. He's pulling at his hair, wishing beyond anything that he could feel the pain he's causing to himself doing it, wishing that he never met Harry so he couldn't have done the terrible things he has.

“Louis,” Harry says, voice calm and even, “I need you to calm down for me because I don't understand what you're trying to tell me. Breathe with me. In for two seconds,” he says and breathes in. Louis follows. “Out for two,” Harry says and releases his breath. Louis can do this. He can follow Harry's lead. In for four, out for four. In for six, out for six.

Ever so slowly, he calms down.

“How did you know how to do that?” Louis asks, still a little breathless.

“I used to get panic attacks when I was younger,” Harry says, shrugging his shoulders. “Now can you tell me what happened?”

Louis sucks in a sharp breath. How does he even begin explaining what happened?

“I can't,” Louis says helplessly. Because no matter how much he wants to explain it, he knows Harry won't believe him.

 _Fuck it_. He owes Harry this. If he can't explain, he'll just have to show him. He turns around between Harry's legs and looks sideways at him, without meeting his eyes.

“I can... I can show. Just, don't freak out?” He says, and before Harry can question anything he materializes his wings. They're small – if he stretches them out completely, they don't reach further than his fingertips – and bright white, a sign of his occupation and rank. The amount and length of his wings representing his status as Cupid, the whiteness of his wings his high rank.

Harry is very silent. Very, very silent. His eyes are wide, transfixed on the stretch of white wings on Louis' back, mouth slightly agape.

After what seems like an eternity, Harry decides to state the obvious. “You have wings,” he almost whispers, something like awe flicking through his eyes. Louis nods. “You're...” Harry continues, voice a little bit stronger, “you're an angel?” Louis nods again.

“A Cupid,” he says softly, looking down at his hands, folded in his lap. It takes one... two... three seconds before he feels Harry's body stiffen. Three seconds before Harry realizes the implications of that confession.

“You made me,” Harry gasps, realizing what Louis had meant earlier, suddenly short for breath himself. Louis looks up at Harry and sees a lot of confusion, but also hurt and betrayal, and he knows he's lost him. He's lost his Harry.

“I didn't mean to,” Louis says, hoping to get in as much as an explanation before Harry would undoubtedly ask him to leave. “It was at the café. You were singing and I wanted to match you up with someone,” he very specifically doesn't mention that in his haste he had almost matched him to Zayn, “but I screwed up. Someone hit by an arrow falls in love with the first person they see, and I didn't... I forgot to move out of the way.”

Harry is shaking his head, eyes wide with incomprehension. Even now, he looks so beautiful to Louis that he has to look away. He can't... he shouldn't be allowed to enjoy even as much as looking at him. He knows he screwed up. He should have never gone along with Niall's ridiculous suggestion.

Without warning, Harry lets out a dry snort. “You said you work for a 'dating company',” he says mirthlessly. He looks up at Louis. “And Niall?” he asks, and Louis can see him try to fill in the gaps in the information he was given. In the lies Louis had been feeding him.

“Not a Cupid. He just likes helping me out,” Louis says. “He's... he's a Cherub.” Harry nods, gaze off somewhere in the distance.

“So how does it work?” Harry asks, looking up.

“What I do?” Louis asks, and Harry confirms with a twitch of his head. His jaws are clenched, and Louis recognizes the look. He looks determined to get as much information as he can. Louis launches into an explanation.

“We... us Cupids, we're supposed to spread love. Give people something to be happy about. Sometimes we get orders from higher-ups to match specific people. I just finished one of those assignments when I came to the cafe to -”

“To force it onto me,” Harry completes. Louis looks down at his hands, not even able to deny it. “So you match people up, and then?”

“We can hit people with different things,” Louis goes on. “We can make people fall in love just for the night, for a couple of weeks, for a couple of months or even longer. It's up to us to decide what people need as a start-up in order to build a successful relationship.”

“What did you hit me with?” Harry asks, all reason and logic, and Louis hates himself. Harry only goes into this rational mode when there are things he doesn't want to feel, doesn't want to think about. He searches for facts instead of facing what he can't.

“Three to six months,” Louis admits. Harry is quick to process. Another two months, then.

“So that means the effect should almost be over. Good.”

“I hoped that the effects would be over sooner, so I could leave,” Louis says, and he sees Harry cringe.

“So why did you stay?” the boy asks softly, and Louis doesn't know how to answer. Because his friend told him it would be 'fun'? He doesn't view it that way anymore. What he did to Harry is a lot of things, but 'fun' isn't one of them. He can't bring himself to answer.

“I'll leave,” he says instead. Harry looks up in alarm, a hand reaching out for Louis, but before the boy can make it harder on himself, Louis disappears into thin air.

* * *

 Two months later find Louis in a fancy restaurant in Luxor, Egypt. He’s doing a control round for a couple that had been matched up about a year and a half ago – one of Louis’ by now infamous success stories where he’d only had to use a one week arrow. The couple is doing brilliantly, better than Louis had even hoped for. They had been engaged for nearly a year now, and their wedding date was coming closer. Their families had met and got along swimmingly, the parents of both parties being very pleased with the match.

Louis downs his hibiscus tea and sets off to do some more random matchmaking while he is in town. Egypt always proved a difficult culture to properly set up love matches. Because of their practically non-existing dating culture, Louis usually went ahead and used only one week arrows, so that the couple in question could get out of their sickly sweet lovey-dovey stage as soon as possible and start working out the logistics of a possible match, something much more valued in this particular society.

 In the streets, Louis shoots off arrows left and right towards people that already look like they are in a relationship. If anything, the sudden surge of love would rekindle the flame, something Louis really enjoys witnessing.

After an hour or so, he’s getting bored and zaps off to a tiny rural town somewhere in the middle of nowhere, France. It’s one of his favourite places in the world, simply because this town never seems to have any trouble of any kind. The people are always the same: steady, certain, happy with their lot.

He sinks down into a comfy chair in a cute little boulangerie and orders a tea and a chocolate croissant. The French suck at tea, but the croissant more than makes up for it. He gets strange looks when he asks for some milk in his tea, but the patron obliges with a smile that's only slightly strained.

As he sinks down into the soft leather of his chair, a customer enters the boulangerie and Louis nearly spits out his tea. The customer has long, wavy dark hair and light skin and for a second, Louis could have sworn it was Harry. He feels his gut twist at the thought of the boy.

He hasn’t seen Harry since he left him that night when he’d let everything spill out, despite Niall’s constant nagging to go and see him. He’d listened to Niall once, and it had turned out to be a disaster. The guy may be a genius when it comes to convoluted matchmaking plans, but he clearly didn’t know what he was talking about when it came to Harry.

He just... he knows he's hurt Harry so, so much, and that he's definitely better off without Louis around as a constant reminder. He remembers that Harry once said that, even if people broke up, the pain would eventually be gone, and the people involved would be left with beautiful memories. He hopes that Harry can one day get there.

He nearly spits out his tea again when he hears Harry's voice calling his name. It's loud and clear and incredibly close, and Louis looks around like he's possessed, but he can't see him.

“ _Louis, I don't know if you can hear me, but if you can, can you please listen?”_

Oh my God, Harry figured out that prayer actually works on angels. Fuck. He wishes he could tune prayers out, not sure if he even wants to hear what Harry has to say to him.

“ _I know it's been a while, and the past two months have been absolutely miserable. I've missed you so much, but I kept being confused about whether what I was feeling was because of the arrow, or because I really felt it. Fuck, you don't want to hear about my misery. I'm sorry.”_

Louis cringes. Even when they haven't seen each other for two months, Harry still prioritizes him.

“ _The point is, I've had some time thinking things over. I know you hit me with an arrow, but I keep coming back to this one thing. You told me that you hit me when I was singing, and I think I've got the moment pegged down. When I saw you in the crowd that evening, I actually forgot my lines. You were so beautiful, so full of life. Your eyes smile, Louis. Have I ever told you that? They have this light in them that's amazing to see. And when you're actually happy, they crinkle at the corners.”_

Louis can't help but snort. It's weird to receive a compliment like that, when he feels exactly the same about Harry's eyes.

“ _The thing is though, Lou, I saw you before that. It's only a couple of minutes, but I saw you when you were sitting at the bar, and I was just as taken away by you as I was when I saw you in the crowd. You were just sitting there, looking around, with this smile on your lips, and I remember thinking that I_ had  _to get to know you. And then, as luck would have it, I saw you dancing with Zayn and I had a perfect excuse to talk to you.”_

Louis' mouth is hanging open, a flake of croissant hanging forgotten on his lip.

“ _I fell for you before your arrow hit me, Lou. You have to understand. I mean, the time frame is over now, right? The arrow should have stopped working two days ago at the latest, and I... I still feel the same. I miss you so much, Lou. Come back, please.”_

Louis grabs a generous amount of money out of his pocket, smashes it on the table to settle the bill and runs out of the building, trying to pinpoint Harry's location while running. Home. Harry's home.

A flash, and he's knocking on Harry's door, not stopping until it opens and a flabbergasted Harry is in the opening. His hair is a little longer, his skin a little paler and there are bags under his eyes, and he looks every bit as stunning as always.

“Did you mean all that?” Louis asks, out of breath as if he's been running all the way from France. Harry looks confused for a split second before his face lights up with understanding.

“You heard it? You heard the prayer?” he asks, his eyes wide. “It worked?”

“I heard all of it. Did you mean it? What you said about... about when I was sitting at the bar?”

Harry smiles. “I meant every word of it, Lou.”

It's the nickname that does it. Louis steps closer and throws his arms around Harry, but not before Harry can throw his arms around him. If asked later, he'll absolutely deny it, but he's sobbing into Harry's shoulder. They're happy tears though, two months worth of pent up feelings, of missing this amazing boy with his amazing voice and infinite patience.

Harry squeezes him hard and if Louis could die, he would be worried about his oxygen supply.

“I missed you too,” Louis blabbers, “I missed you so much.” He lifts his head so he can reach for Harry's face and hold it between his hands. Harry's face is red, too, eyes glassy with un-shed tears, but he's smiling, he's smiling so widely and it's lovely, it's so lovely. “I love you,” Louis says, before standing up on his toes to pepper Harry's face in kisses.

Harry giggles through his tears, tries to say he loves Louis too, but Louis' lips are everywhere and it comes out muffled.

Suddenly, Louis jerks back.

“Oh my God,” he says, “there's so much I have to arrange.” He looks up into Harry's eyes as if he can find answers there, his face urgent. “I have to – can you wait just a little longer?”

“What?” Harry blurts, intelligently, not understanding what on earth Louis is on about.

“I'll be back, I promise, I just need to take care of some things. I'll be back!” And with that, Louis is gone, leaving a very confused Harry behind.

* * *

Harry is sitting cross-legged on his couch, chewing on the side of his thumb. It has been hours since Louis disappeared on him,  _again_ , and Harry hasn't heard anything since. He's tried praying – to no avail – he's even tried Louis' cell, but the only answer he'd gotten there was that the number was disconnected.

In the meantime, he's cleaned up his room and the kitchen, including all the dirty dishes from his housemates. He has vacuumed and mopped the floors, dusted off all horizontal surfaces and there's just only so much stress cleaning that a person can do before the entire house is sparkly clean.

What if Louis didn't intend to come back? What if something happened that made him change his mind? What if he's _dead_? Harry doesn't know whether angels can actually die, but what if they can and something terrible happened and he's dead?

He's about to call Niall when there's pounding on the door again and Harry jumps up in one smooth move, reaches the front door in less than three steps. When he opens it, Louis is there, red in the face as if he's been running, sweating like Harry's never seen him sweat before.

“The bastards dropped me in Croydon,” he pants, as if that explains everything. Harry must be looking utterly confused, because Louis launches into an explanation.

“I quit,” he says, “I went up to Simon – my boss – and I explained everything and quit. I get to keep the apartment, Haz, and they set everything else up for me. Like, I'm an actual U.K. citizen now! I'm – I'm human!” He's smiling, his eyes crinkling. “Fucking hell, everything hurts,” he says, laughing a bit and doubling over with his hands on his knees. “I didn't remember what muscle aches felt like, but I sure do now. I ran all the way from the station. Do you know how exhilarating it is to actually be out of breath?”

Things start to click in Harry's head. Louis _quit._ He's no longer a Cupid. He's human. He's – oh Jesus, he gave up everything for – for _him_.

“Do you happen to have a glass of water, H? I feel dehydrated,” Louis continues, scraping his throat in wonder.

Harry lunges forward and actually lifts Louis off the ground, hugging him tightly.

“Careful!” Louis admonishes, but his voice is laced with laughter and he's hugging back, “I'm fragile now! You might break me!” Harry realizes that Louis does feel softer somehow, and puts him down again.

“Well,” Louis says, “say something.”

“I...” Harry is kind of at a loss for words. “You... do you wanna come in?”

Louis' smile is blinding. “Love to.”

* * *

Harry is extremely pleased when he finds out he can give Louis hickeys now. 

* * *

"Holy hell, what the fuck? What is this? Why? Harry, it hurts!! Make it go away!"

Louis is less pleased when he finds out that the slightest bumps into immovable objects cause pain and bruising.

* * *

Louis actually finds a job at a dating company and, although it doesn't pay as much as Harry first thought, it's more than sufficient to retain his self-assigned sugar baby status.

* * *

Louis is cuddled up with Harry on his sofa a few weeks later, staring out the window at St. Paul's Cathedral – which is beautifully lit up at night – and Louis figures he probably owes Harry an explanation on how he came to be a Cupid.

“Hey,” he says, still staring outside, “do you want to know about my career in Heaven?” He feels more than sees Harry looking up at him from where his head is on Louis' lap

“I can't say I'm not curious,” Harry says, “but you don't _have_ to.”

Louis smiles. He is so lucky, to have found Harry, to be able to stay with him. He kisses his curls.

“I want to,” he promises.

So he tells everything. He tells him that he used to be human, which surprises Harry. He tells him about the raid in his village, how he'd pretty much single handedly tried to stop it and how that move of – in his head – complete and utter stupidity had somehow gotten the attention of Heaven. At age twenty- two, he'd been offered a chance to make a positive difference in the world. His entire family had been killed in the raid. His mother, his six siblings, all dead, and Louis had been angry beyond reason. There was nothing in this world that he wanted more than to help prevent that from happening to other people.

He became a lower level Cherub, like all humans who were offered the chance to become angels. He kept all his human traits and preferences, but just gained a bit of strength, stamina and the wonderful perk of immortality.

Cherubs, he explained to Harry, were found on every level in Heaven. They could be doing anything. There were Cherubs helping out Cupids, like Niall, there were some helping out on management level, there were Cherubs in Information Control – really, they were all over he place. Louis had been in the War & Peace department, using his immortality to fight side by side with humans throughout the ages. He'd been pretty happy there, too, until he realized how little difference his interference made.

“I was so sad, Harry,” Louis says. “I thought I had been making a difference, but the fighting just never ended. Humans have their freedom of choice and somehow their choices always lead to death and destruction and I – I just couldn't surround myself with that anymore. So I started looking into other departments.”

He had considered taking up an administrative position, but figured he'd be bored by that within twenty years. That's when he fell in line with the Cupid squad. Here was a position that focused on nothing but bringing people love and happiness.

“I know it sounds sappy,” Louis sighs, “but imagine being surrounded by nothing but misery for over fifteen hundred years. It was exactly the change I needed, and I still don't regret it.”

He'd started out by helping a Cupid by the name of Mary, a wonderful lady who had taught Louis everything he knows. After a little more than a hundred years, Louis thought he was ready to become a Cupid himself. However, it wasn't that easy. Heaven had a system where there always had to be the exact same amount of Cupids, so in order for Louis to become one, he had to make another Cupid resign, like a sort of rite of passage. It didn't matter how, as long as they gave up their position.

“I got my old boss out, Simon,” Louis says proudly, a small grin around his lips. “They guy had always been very strict, and it only took a couple of decades to convince him that he would be better off in management. He didn't even have to give up meddling with Cupid affairs, just the title. It's the fastest that anyone has ever moved a Cupid out of the field.”

Harry smiles, not at all surprised by how Louis had managed to play events in such a way that they were beneficial to himself, without actually hurting anyone.

“So who will take your place?” Harry asks, and Louis shrugs.

“I don't know. _Someone_ will have to take my place, now that I'm gone. I'm just glad I gave some poor sod the opportunity without actually having to go through all that trouble.”

He couldn't say he particularly cared about it anymore, either. Heaven would go on doing what it did without him, the earth would keep on turning. All he cared about was that he had Harry now, and that he planned on keeping him with him for as long as he lived.


	4. Epilogue

 “There seems to be a mistake,” Simon says, browsing through the suspiciously thin file in front of him. “There is no way in Heaven that you made Louis Tomlinson give up his position within a time frame of eight months.”

“I assure you, that's how it happened.”

“Explain.”

“I was out in London one night and I saw this Harry Styles for the first time. I remember thinking that he would make a great match for Louis, so I made sure that the boy would get a job at Louis' favourite café. They were bound to meet. Of course, I can hardly take credit for the way that Louis shot the poor guy and forgot to move out of the way. In fact, that made my job a lot harder. You know how stubborn Louis can get. At first, I was sure he would walk away from Harry, simply because of his ridiculous guilt about the situation.”

“But you convinced him to stay?”

“Just a little nudge left and right, sir. They were an excellent match, even if I say so myself. The only real trouble came when Louis spilled all about Heaven and convinced himself to stay away from Harry. It was hard to inform Harry about prayer without seeming to interfere.”

Simon closes the file, a faint smile on his lips. “I am impressed. I will be more than happy to promote you to Cupid. Welcome to the squad, Niall.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think!!
> 
> Also, come say hi on my [tumblr!](http://goingtofixmyhome.tumblr.com)


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